Angels of Wrath (66 page)

“We’re in! Go!” yelled one of the soldiers, and the Hummer jerked forward.

“This is one screwed-up place,” muttered someone. Corrine didn’t know who said it, but she certainly agreed.

~ * ~

27

THE RED SEA

Getting to Yanbu on the coast of the Red Sea at the lip of the Saudi Arabian desert was only half as hard as finding a serviceable boat there, finally Ferguson found a man who ran a diving business who agreed to rent them a vessel for the day, as long as they paid twice the normal rate in cash. Ferguson didn’t have that much cash; it was Thera who suggested the bracelet.

The man said he would take a credit card.

Once they cast off, Ferguson had Thera take the wheel. He unpacked their weapons from the duffle bags and called Corrigan for an update.

“I have a lot of stuff going on here, Ferg.”

“Gee, Jack. No kidding. I thought you were hanging out knocking down beers.”

“Rankin thinks he knows where the Scud missile is.”

“Good. can you get me a Global Hawk down here? The satellite image is pretty old.”

“Every available asset in the Middle East is over Iraq. There’s a satellite coming over your area in twenty minutes. A team is standing by to analyze it. That’s the best I can do.”

“Where’s Van?”

“They’re en route to back up Rankin.”

“All right,” said Ferguson. “The photo guys know what the
Sharia
looks like?”

“They’ll do their best.”

“Call me back.” He snapped off the phone.

Thera looked over from the wheel. “What did he say?”

“Not much. I figure we have about twenty miles before we have to really worry. Open the throttle up and let her rip.”

“It could be a wild goose chase. The boats in the satellite photo aren’t necessarily the ones we’re looking for, and they might not have come this way.”

“I hope so,” said Ferguson. He was putting two and two together and coming up with forty-four: the most recent satellite photo showed a yacht like the
Sharia
in the Red Sea. He hadn’t been able to find the speedboat, or, rather, he’d seen plenty similar. His theory was that the
Sharia
had gone south alone for some reason, with Coldwell or whoever had used Thatch’s credit card joining up from Tel Aviv. He might be wrong, but being wrong would be easier to deal with than just missing them.

“Did you really think I stole the jewels?” asked Thera.

“I still do.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Nah. You would have plugged me in the back by now if you had.” Ferguson reached into his bag and took out a battered Boston Red Sox cap to shield his eyes from the sun. Then he took out his binoculars and began scanning the horizon in the direction of Mecca.

~ * ~

28

NEAR AL FATTAH, IRAQ

There were guards at the entrance to the lumberyard. Behind them, the fence was locked and chained. James told the men that they had business with the manager. The men told him the manager wouldn’t be in until ten or eleven, and the yard wouldn’t open until then.

“Tell them we’ll wait inside,” said Rankin.

James tried it, but the guards claimed not to have the keys.

“Have them call the manager.”

“No phone,” translated James. “I think they meant the manager. That’s very possible. Half the country doesn’t have working phones.”

Rankin looked at the men. There were four of them. They were separated well, positioned in such a way that they could pummel the vehicle if anyone inside opened fire. The fence to the yard opened on a set of barriers and a stationary forklift; it was impossible to simply crash the gate and get in.

“Tell them we’ll come back,” said Rankin.

“Ask for a place to have breakfast,” suggested Guns. “A good, long breakfast.”

“You hungry?” asked Rankin.

“If they think we’re having breakfast, they won’t be watching for us.”

“You got that from Ferg,” said Rankin. He turned to James. “Ask for an American-style breakfast.”

They drove a mile down the highway to a spot where the road curved and they could stop without being seen from the lumberyard. When they stopped, Rankin called Corrigan in the Cube. “What did the space cadet find out about kerosene?”

“Kerosene was used for the very first set of rockets developed,” said Corrigan, who was reading notes Thomas had prepared. “It would require heavy modifications but is potentially usable, if an expert prepared the rocket. Other possible fuels include—”

~ * ~

“That’s good enough for me. We’re going to do a reecee on the lumberyard. Have Van meet us there.”

“He’s twenty minutes away.”

“We’ll be inside. Tell him about the building.”

“Do you really think—”

Rankin killed the phone and stuffed it into his pocket. Ferguson didn’t get second-guessed like this. When he said something, people saluted.

“You think we should update the CentCom security people?” Guns asked.

“They’re only going to tell us again to check it out and get back to them,” said Rankin, opening his door. “We can get up there before CentCom gets back to us anyway. Gear up.”

“I’ll stay with the car,” said James. “Somebody’s got to, right?”

“No. We may need you,” said Rankin. “If we come across someone who speaks only Arabic.”

“Your Arabic’s fine, Stephen.”

“Yours is a lot better. I’m all right with a few phrases, but once they get going, I get lost.”

“It’s a long walk,” said James.

“Don’t be such a wimp.”

“I am a wimp.”

“Yeah, right.”

Guns didn’t think it would be that bad an idea if someone stayed back with the vehicle, but he didn’t feel like arguing with Rankin. They put their weapons into civilian-style knapsacks—having guns out might panic the wrong people-—and trotted across the road. They continued across a patch of scrubby land to the railroad tracks, then walked down them in the direction of the lumberyard. After about fifty yards, Guns spotted a ditch on the far side of the tracks. They had to pick their way over rubble at several spots, but it covered their approach. They walked to within fifty yards of the tanker car, where Rankin saw a guard slouched in the shade.

“Case closed,” said James.

“Doesn’t prove anything. We have to get inside.”

“Just send the police out here.”

“Man, James, you really are wimping today,” said Rankin.

“I tell you, I’m a coward.”

Guns looked over at the journalist. He thought he’d see him smile or wink, but the look on his face was very serious.

“You have your sat phone?” Rankin asked him.

“Yeah.”

“I have a number for you to call if we get greased.”

James took a small pad and pen from his pocket and wrote it down. “I don’t know where we are.”

“The guy you talk to will. You call that number and you duck. You
got me?”

“Stephen—”

“You duck. Run the other way. No heroics. Because they will take out everything in their path. Everything.”

James shook his head.

Rankin looked at Guns. “We flank this guy?”

“I think I can crawl up behind him if you attract his attention.”

“Shoot him if you have to.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

Guns crawled two car lengths beyond the tank car, then got out of the ditch and moved to the tracks. He thought of climbing up the car and attacking the guard from above but decided he’d have trouble if the Iraqi moved before he could attack.

When Rankin saw that Guns was in position, he moaned, softly first, then louder. The guard walked a few yards in his direction, gun pointed at the ground.

Guns began to follow, stepping as lightly as he could. When he was no more than twenty feet away the guard stopped. Guns froze, standing so silently he could hear a rasp in the man’s chest as he breathed.

The Iraqi turned toward him anyway. Rankin took him down with a burst that caught him in the side of the head.

Guns cursed, then leapt toward the fence. Rankin ran and grabbed the gun the Iraqi had dropped, then joined Guns as the marine put his rifle to the lock on the twelve-foot-high gate where the train entered the yard and blew it off.

The gate didn’t budge when they pushed. Rankin reared back and threw himself against it. When it still didn’t move, he began to climb. He had just reached the top when a guard appeared from the area of the building. The man yelled something, then dropped to one knee and fired his Ml6.

Losing his grip, Rankin slid down the fence to the ground inside the lumberyard. He crumpled to the ground, safe behind a pile of lumber. Guns managed to pry enough of the gate away from the fence to get in without exposing himself to the gunfire.

Rankin pushed up and fired a burst from his Uzi. As he ducked back under a hail of bullets, he saw a long hose that ran from the building out toward the gate they had just climbed. “Guns, you remember that hose?”

Guns looked over. The hose, a little thicker than a standard garden hose and red, sat in the middle of the aisle he had walked down the day before.

“I don’t think so. You smell that? There’s kerosene all over the place. Worse than the other day.”

Rankin wasn’t sure about that, but he did know this had to be the place.

“Call in support,” he told Guns. “Get an attack plane or an Apache up here to take out that building. The rocket has to be in there. Get them up here fast.”

A heavy machine gun drowned out the last of his words.

~ * ~

29

THE RED SEA

Ravid checked his watch. The American satellite was just now passing overhead. They would begin to assemble the missile as soon as it was gone.

According to his calculations, it would take a bit over two hours to get the missile ready for launch. They would be vulnerable to detection during that time, of course, but it was unlikely anyone would be watching too closely. Certainly the Americans would have every available resource focused on Baghdad. And the Israelis would not bother to protect Islam.

Two hours, and revenge would be his.

Revenge and so much more.

~ * ~

30

BAGHDAD

By the time they got to the hospital, the man Corrine had tried to save had bled to death. She realized it a few blocks away, but refused to let go of him, as if admitting the obvious was some sort of sacrilege. Only when the doctor started to reach into the Humvee for him at the emergency entrance did she remove her hand and shake her head.

“You better look at the others,” she said.